Curiosity killed the cat
by rambunctious child
Summary: Draco's mother had always warned him not to go poking around, you might not like what you find. Unfortuniatly, the more Draco finds, the more he looks. R&R please. it is Christmas after all!


AN* this is my very first Draco fic! and i say first because previously all my stories have involved both Astoria and Draco, this is mainly because i have a lot of opinions on Draco, and i didn't want to spoil them with poor writing skills. i'm confident enough that i have improved just enough to get the message i want to convay accross...i hope, so without further adeu, i bring to you...

disclaimer- If i owned Harry Potter, there would be no "Harry Potter", the series would be "Draco Malfoy" and the series would have numerous volumes, and many would agree that i really should have stopped at 20, however i will strongly disagree as i mail off book 76 to the publishers.

**note- for those of you who need an age range,** this** story takes place mainly prior to Draco going to Hogwarts, however, depending on how you interpet may extend slightly into Draco begining Hogwarts, all up to you. **

Curiosity killed the cat

Mother always warned me not to go poking around, said I might not like what I find. Often times I didn't, but even still I couldn't seem to help it. I mean, it's not a hard thing to be, curious, especially when everyone's so intent on you not knowing.

I had picked up this awful habit; and I admit it's awful for if someone were to even consider doing it to me I would verbally string them up by the ankles and throw stones at them. I can't help it however to go snooping around when I find myself in an empty room, no matter who's room it is. You'd be surprised how much you learn about a person rifling through draws, browsing through there closest and eavesdropping on there conversations. I prodded and poked around in everybody's business, even when it didn't concern me. Then again, you find enough and usually something concerning you will pop up, otherwise you wouldn't exactly care to scope out the person.

When they say curiosity can kill the cat they're not kidding. I mean it can be great, knowing more about a person or situation then anyone thinks you do, but for the most part it's a burden. Because for the most part, it's only the bad and difficult things your parents try to hide from you, and once you know you can't go back to un- knowing, and no matter how much the information pulls and tugs at the corner of your mind you can't say a word about it to anyone for, your not supposed to know, and if you bring it up you're bringing up the fact that you dug around to find out. So your just stuck with this secret, which is the worse kind of a secret for usually two keep a secret, and there fore your not alone. Snoops are very much alone.

I found my mother was a smoker. I never rush to conclusions, but there was evidence plenty enough to convict her. It had all started when I had found a dirty ash tray, which was odd for as far as I knew no one had come around and I was quite positive I hadn't done it, so it would have had to be my mother. I've found packs of cigarettes hidden around the house, in various coat pockets, vases and the always forgotten bottom draw of decorative tables. Her friend had offered her a cigarette once, which she eagerly declined because I was very obviously there, but I didn't miss the warning glance she gave them, as though she was worried her secret would be out. But it already was, and had been for a long time. I always wanted to confront her about it, but I could never bring myself to do. I had a million different ways of telling her, a thousand more response's as to how I knew, but the words never found there way out. They just remained trapped in my head, bouncing and poking around. Sometimes I'd forget them altogether, while others they rung out in my own ears driving me half mad. I still never told anyone, and so they still pester me on occasion.

I had been rummaging through my mothers bedside table one day; for she was out having her nails, hair and what not done and father was supposed to have taken me out but had failed to show up leaving me home alone which mother rarely allowed, making this an equally rare opportunity; when I came across some documents. My mother wasn't employed and didn't manage any billing, so any document was most definitely odd. Know going through one's belongings may be bad, but I wasn't bad at it, so rather then read them there and risk getting caught, I took some parchment I'd potioned, to copy other documents by simply pressing them face to face, put the originals away and hid the copies in my pillow case.

Later that night I had read them…they were divorce papers.

After that discovery I became more attuned to my parents arguing, it hadn't worried me before for my parents didn't argue much, but then they weren't exactly both home all that much either. I started to notice that they did argue a lot…whenever they came across one another actually, and the fact that those documents were sitting in my mum's draw wasn't all to comforting.

The documents failed to come up, but I still checked to see if they were still there every so often, which they always were. Which meant, that to some degree, my mother was still considering it. And this fact never failed to nag at the back of my mind.

When I was growing up, my father wasn't home much. He left for work before I got up, and came home long after I'd fallen asleep, at least that was what I was told. After I started paying attention to my parents manner towards one another, and listening far more closely to there arguments it became clear that things weren't matching up. Which my mother always seemed quick to point out. And there was many a night when mum was home, and there was no arguing. For most that fact doesn't worry them, however by this point in time I knew that if there was no arguing then father hadn't come home yet, and well, I was curious as to where he was.

I snuck out of the house after dinner one day to see him at work, but when I got there I was told he'd left hours ago, which didn't make sense in the slightest because if he'd left work hours ago he'd come home, right? Apparently not, because he left work at five o'clock every day, often times even before that.

We had dinner at six.

I shouldn't have went to his office, I wish I never had, all I could think about was where was he? Why didn't he come home, if he didn't get to his office until 9 and left at 5 every day why wasn't he home? My curiosity was killing me, although, I knew the truth would probably hurt more.

My father has a secretary, Elisa Klein, she was a very young, foreign; for she was born in Germany, and prettier then she was young and foreign girl who accomplished absolutely nothing. She did no filing, no floo calls, no errands, she didn't even send out any messenger planes through the ministry. For the most part, I considered her office candy, just another piece of furniture in my fathers office. There is one most peculiar aspect about Miss Elisa Klein, she had no husband, no boyfriend and as far as I knew no promiscuous affairs. This very much bothered me…my father had a young, foreign, pretty girl in his office who accomplished absolutely nothing, had no husband, boyfriend or promiscuous relations all day in his office. As much as this might bother me, it didn't mean he actually _did _anything.

I came across my fathers pay roll one month before he sent it off, and unless Elisa actually did my fathers job for him, while balancing on her head she was being paid far, far, far, to much. This demanded further investigation.

She has three children. Elisa Klein has three bastards. Gregor, David and Abigail, who as fair as I could trace, and believe me I traced, had no father.

Father didn't show up for Christmas again, he usually didn't, and while mum was on the rampage, complaining between swigs of Champaign, wine and whatever else she could get her hands on in the liquor cabinet I decided to find out where father was. I wanted to know where he was always running off to.

I may as well have committed suicide in terms of curiosity killing things.

I had gathered enough papers, gossip and receipts to have a good enough idea as to what was going on. I was reluctant to believe it however, so I kept going through papers and listening to gossip and following the family vault, trying to prove it all wrong, but the more I looked the harder it was to say I was mistaking what I saw. I even started going through post! I would open any and all letters addressed to my father and just use a candle flame to melt the wax over the seal closed. Once I started that it became quite certain who Gregor, David and Abigail's father was.

Why though…why would he abandon us for them? Why would he start a whole new family with her when he already had us? Why would he have dinner there when we had dinner for him here. Why would he go spend Christmas over with them when he could spend it with his wife and his first born son? Why would he want to?

I had to tell mum, I knew I had to tell her. But I couldn't … because the divorce papers were gone.

So I never told a soul, didn't breath a word. And I would say it killed me but it didn't, for it was much worse then that. For I had to live with it.

AN* reviewing to this is very important to me. pretty please, if you managed to read all the way to the end please leave a review!


End file.
